The Wistful Skyline
The sirens did not wail; they screamed, a high-pitched digital shriek that tore through the humid air of the valley. You stood on the ridge above the town of Oakhaven, your binoculars slick with sweat, watching the first black plume rise from the hydroelectric plant. It was not smoke, not yet. It was steam, white and violent, twisting into the bruised purple sky like a ghost trying to remember...
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